


bring your love baby, i could bring my shame

by blamelessfool



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Drug Use, Episode s01e08: Prague, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25026358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamelessfool/pseuds/blamelessfool
Summary: Stewy resists the urge to roll his eyes, but just barely. He’s bored of Kendall pretending to hate him.Cannon divergence from "Prague"
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 74





	bring your love baby, i could bring my shame

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Wicked Games" by The Weeknd

Metallic blue lights flash and light up the walls in bright streaks as bad trap music pounds in the background. It makes Stewy think of his college years, blurring memories of faceless bodies in countless expensive clubs or showy penthouse suites. There must be something about being around Kendall that pulls back him into those memories, that or being buzzed. He can’t figure out if it’s the drink or the coke getting to him more tonight, but decides he doesn’t care, relaxing into the fuzzy in-and-out sensation.

Kendall, on the other hand, looks like shit, his eyes all puffy and bloodshot and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looks exhausted. He’s leaning with fake casualness against the bar and is going on about his “rebalancing,” the solar cells or whatever the hell rich douchebag bullshit he’s gotten into now, and he’s guarded, sure; but his eyes are unfocused, and his voice lacks the full bitterness he knows Kendall’s capable of when he’s _really_ pissed at him.

Stewy smiles.

It’s three in the morning and people are still dancing behind them, if you could even call it dancing, sloppy movements from intoxicated wannabes. No one worth writing home about in the crowd tonight. He needs another fucking drink, or something stronger. Kendall’s still talking but he cuts him off.

“Hey, why don’t we talk in private for sec? Can we do that?”

“I’m good right here.”

Stewy resists the urge to roll his eyes, but just barely. He’s bored of Kendall pretending to hate him. “Come on, man, you’re gonna let me be a loser who does drugs alone? Huh? Like some fuckin’ junkie whore?”

Kendall shifts his weight, won’t look at him.

“We’re still friends, right? You wouldn’t do that to me, would you Ken?” he says, leaning in closer than he needs to and giving his best puppy dog eyes. “Plus, I owe you.”

Kendall groans dramatically and scrubs his eyes. “You fuckin’….” He starts but doesn’t elaborate.

Stewy grins and he has to stifle the giggle that’s building in his chest. He feels giddy. For all the show he’s put on, Kendall doesn’t resist Stewy tugging him by the elbow to drag him down a maze of hallways, narrowly avoiding bodies with the speed he’s pulling him at. But the last thing he needs right now is for Roman or Tom or Greg, fucking _Greg_ , to follow them.

He shoves them both into a bathroom and wastes no time in producing a small bag from his suit jacket.

“Give it here, you amateur,” Kendall grabs at the bag greedily, and Stewy lets him. He examines it like a scientist might examine a particularly fascinating specimen under a microscope, and rubs some into his gums. “This is good shit.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Guess I figured you were too much of a poser to know what good drugs are anymore.”

“Then I guess you don’t know me at all,” he says smirking, like the asshole he knows he is.

Kendall huffs a laugh, the prospect of another high distracting him from the fact that he’s supposed to be unforgivably mad at him.

Stewy’s a genius.

Through the thin walls, the pounding music is still audible, a steady heartbeat in the otherwise quiet room. Kendall moves quickly, fingers trembling handling the bag, but he taps out a line on the counter and takes it with a hard sniff, then another. He’s about to do a third when Stewy stops him.

“Alright, don’t be fucking selfish, asshole.”

“I thought you owed me,” he murmurs, but hands over the bag anyway.

Stewy takes a hit himself, leans his head back and closes his eyes to feel the rush. Everything flashes white. He shakes his head like a dog, quick. “Fuckin’ dope shit.”

Kendall’s watching him rapturously, glassy eyes suddenly laser focused. He’s flushed, coloring the tops of his cheeks, and he rocks back and forth on his heels. He makes a grab at the baggie like a toddler wanting a toy. “My turn.”

Stewy laughs at him. It’s probably mean, but whatever. It’s just a little pathetic how cliché it is, spoiled rich kid who turned into a spoiled rich man expecting to get every little thing his heart desires, but you know, pot, kettle. He shoves him off easily.

Kendall just stares at him. “Stewy,” he says warningly. “Dude, come on. Give it to me.”

“Or what?” He shouldn’t push his luck, but he’s feeling dangerous, his pulse pounding away in his chest.

Kendall keeps staring flatly for a few seconds, then lunges. He’s surprisingly strong for someone who almost certainly hasn’t slept in two days, like he’s been working out- what kind of addict keeps up their workout regime when they’re relapsing, the psychopath- but after some struggle Stewy crowds him against a wall without any real effort, fighting off a laugh bubbling in his throat the whole while.

“Stewy,” Kendall says again, this time a little desperately.

Stewy just keeps him pinned. Kendall keeps flailing and it’s starting to piss him off a little bit. He frowns. He hates when Kendall’s like this, when he has to guess what game they’re playing at, and he has even less patience when he’s high. But Stewy has the upper hand here, figuratively and literally, and he keeps up his hold.

Eventually Kendall relaxes, still panting but not actively fighting in his grip. Once he’s relatively calmed, Stewy reaches to put a hand behind Kendall’s neck and puts their faces close. Kendall’s got his fingers tangled in the front of his jacket. He’s breathing rapid and loud and it echoes off the tiled floor. Stewy suddenly wishes he were more sober, or at least had some water. Clarity, his brain supplies fuzzily, he just wants a moment of goddamn clarity. He drags a thumb roughly across Kendall’s cheek, too roughly, but his fingertips are tingling and he can’t feel shit.

“Hey, look at me.”

When Kendall drags his eyes up to meet Stewy’s and sees the heat in them, the way his eyes flit to his mouth and back up, he knows exactly the game they’re playing tonight, and he flashes an obnoxious grin.

“Fuck yeah.” He shoves their mouths together, uncoordinated and messy.

Kendall’s fingers tighten their hold on his jacket and moans, shameless. It’s such a familiar scene, shoving Kendall into a bathroom wall- Stewy’s done it so many times over the years he should almost be bored with it- but his body reacts like it’s the first time, like someone poured fire straight into his veins.

It should be gross, kissing his childhood friend in a dimly lit bathroom in some freak warehouse party, high on coke, and they’re probably (okay, _definitely_ , too old for this)- but fuck it, whatever, he can blame the coke. Or Pavlovian reflexes, or something. The point is, Stewy’s buzzing, he’s so hard. He just wants to feel. He breaks the kiss to undo his own belt, fumbling with an urgency he doesn’t usually possess.

“What do you want, huh Ken?” he says between bites at his neck.

“I-I- uh, I want, I need--“ Kendall stutters, can’t get the words out, but reaches to stroke him weakly through his jeans. There’s no coordination to it, but he’s so riled up, it’s not like it matters.

“Yeah, I got you.” He places a gentle hand on Kendall’s shoulder, and he drops to his knees like he was just waiting for Stewy to give him the go-ahead.

Kendall moves quick in taking his dick out of his jeans. Either the music stops all of the sudden, or he just can’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. He’s so keyed up he half-deliriously wonders if he’ll pass out before Kendall even gets his mouth around him. But Kendall closes his eyes as he sinks his mouth over him, so fast he nearly chokes with it, and Stewy hisses at him and squeezes his neck hard with the accidental brush of teeth.

Kendall’s more careful as he pulls off, wet and sloppy. Stewy relaxes his hold and it turns into more of a caress as Kendall picks up a steady pace. He feels it building inside him, hips twitching and hands desperately grabbing at Kendall’s shoulders, at any part of him he can reach. He should probably feel embarrassed about how quick he’s about to come, but he’d be lying if he said Kendall wasn’t good at this- and Kendall knows he’s good, the fucker. Kendall strokes him through his orgasm, looking up at him through his eyelashes as he does. He releases his cock as it softens and sticks his fingers, slick with Stewy’s release, in his mouth.

“Fuck, dude.” Stewy has to close his eyes for a few seconds to catch his breath. When his heart rate finally slows, he pulls Kendall up roughly to his feet. “Get up here.”

Stewy backs him against the wall again and slots a thigh between his legs and feels how hard Kendall is, just from that. Kendall lets out a moan with his head thrown back, and almost unconsciously starts grinding Stewy’s thigh. The giddy feeling rises in his chest again and he can’t stop a disbelieving laugh.

“You love it, you fuckin’ love it,” Stewy says, shaking his head. “You’re a goddamn mess. So desperate for it you’re humping my leg like we’re in high school again.”

Kendall looks completely undone, still moaning shamelessly and frantically jolting his hips to meet Stewy’s thigh.

Scraping his teeth against the side of his neck, Stewy chuckles to himself, drunk with the knowledge that Kendall would do whatever he wanted him to right now. The idea is intoxicating. Part of him wants to keep this going longer, could live and die in this moment, but honestly, he doesn’t have the patience for it.

“You gonna come for me like this? Huh? You gonna come in your pants? That’s right, come for me, baby.”

With a smirk, Stewy reaches around and draws a hand lightly up Kendall’s back, and Kendall’s done, back arching as he finally goes silent and comes, hot and messy in his pants.

He crumples forward and buries his face in Stewy’s neck, and Stewy has to focus to keep both of them upright. When he finally looks up at him, Kendall’s eyes are glazed and unfocused. Stewy turns his face to kiss him again, open mouth and lazy. Kendall allows it for a brief moment, but then he straightens up and clears his throat, dropping his eyes to the floor as he adjusts himself.

“You good?” Stewy tries to get Kendall to look at him but he won’t, the stubborn asshole.

“Yeah man, I’m good.” He straightens his suit jacket. “I, uh, guess I’ll see you around.”

“Sure.”

The door opens and Kendall slips out before Stewy can say anything else. He goes to the sink, splashes water on his face, and gives it a few moments before he leaves the room himself. The bass vibrations and strobe lights hit him the second he’s out the door, disorienting him once again, but it’s not hard to spot Kendall pushing his way through the crowd to the elevators. Stewy grins to himself, manic with the knowledge that Kendall Roy, mister high and mighty pretentious douchebag himself, is leaving a Rhomboid party alone, come drying in his Armani pants.

Stewy walks back towards the bar smugly. He deserves another fucking drink.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't post much but you can come yell at me on tumblr @blamelessfool


End file.
